And I'm Sorry that I Couldn't Get to You
by I'mtheAlphahearmeRoar
Summary: The call comes in at forty five minutes to midnight.


**_Say something, I'm giving up on you_ **

**_I'll be the one, if you want me to_ **

**_Anywhere I would've followed you_ **

**_Say something, I'm giving up on you_ **

* * *

><p>The call comes in at forty five minutes to midnight.<p>

Derek's just about dozing off, eyelids one or two flutters from closing 'til morning, when the shrill ring snaps them back open. He sighs heavily, blinding reaching for the offending use of technology, fingers lazily sliding the mobile off the bedside table. When he looks at the bright, lit up screen flashing _Scott McCall_, his breath catches tightly in his vocal cords, his next inhale shaky, a shallow exhale following.

His wolf whimpers petulantly, claws at his ribs like a puppy feebly scratching its paws against a locked back door, trying to get out.

He knows something's wrong even before he presses accept on the call, hand shaking as he raises it to his ear.

* * *

><p><strong><em>And I am feeling so small<em> **

**_It was over my head_ **

**_I know nothing at all_ **

* * *

><p>"Oh God, <em>Derek<em>." Scott's voice is raw, splitting a fraction over the line, crackling around the edges like there's bad reception wherever he is. Other than that, there's pure, undeniable panic that laces his tone, and it has Derek jumping out of bed, pressing the button for loud speaker and chucking the phone on the bed so he can quickly throw a shirt on.

"Scott, what is it?" he rushes out. He's in the middle of slipping his jeans on, fighting the sweltering worry that eats away at him. His wolf's whimpering is now a constant, shrill whine, claws starting to imbed deep, long gashes that drag down the inside column of his spine, the bones in his body trying to crack and rearrange, to_ shift_.

Scott doesn't answer him. There's the sound of harsh breathing coming from the other end of the line, and it sounds like whoever's making the noise is having an internal battle with their own body—fighting for air, a wet, heaving feat of survival.

"D-Derek, _please_, you have to get here." When Scott finally manages to reply, his voice is jagged, and the next words he speaks come out as a rattled, shaken sob. "I-It's Stiles."

* * *

><p><strong><em>And I will stumble and fall<em> **

**_I'm still learning to love_ **

**_Just starting to crawl_ **

* * *

><p>When Derek bursts through the door to the Stilinski's, he finds Scott crouched down on the floor in a corner of the living room—even with the shadows cloaking his very form, Derek can see that he's trembling, head in his hands, eyes a bright, shimmering crimson. And Derek knows why, can see the tears pooling in the depths of scarlet.<p>

"Scott," he snaps, kneeling down to the boy, grabbing his jaw and jerking his head up to look him in the eyes. Scott's cheeks are stained, dripping with tears. Derek hastily tries to expel the sudden thought that he may have got here too late. "Scott, _where's _Stiles."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Say something, I'm giving up on you<em> **

**_I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you_ **

* * *

><p>Scott shakes his head, incoherent words tumbling out of his mouth, tries to slink back and plaster himself further into the corner he's already fully taken up.<p>

Derek gnashes his teeth together in fear and agitation, feels when they slice through his gums, tastes the bitter, salty tang of blood that rolls over his tongue. "Scott, _answer me_. Where's Stiles!" he yells.

* * *

><p><strong><em>Anywhere I would've followed you<em> **

**_Say something, I'm giving up on you_ **

* * *

><p>"G-Gone, gone, gone, gone." Scott's biting down on his lip, rocking back and forth on his heels, knees knocking together. "Couldn't save—too much blood—I—I <em>tried<em>—I'm s-s-sorry."

Derek's eyes burn, his temper becoming harder and harder to control. "Scott! What do you mean? _Scott_!" Scott doesn't show that he's heard Derek at all, just continues to sway to and thro, eyes wide and un-blinking, red glimmer dying in them until they're just a tear-blurred haze of chocolate brown.

Derek's nostrils flare then, and a familiar scent assaults his senses. His wolf howls, the sound like glass shattering behind his eardrums.

_Stiles_.

Derek abandons Scott, follows the trail of sweat-soaked skin and acidic rust. It leads him upstairs, and he pauses at Stiles' bedroom door. The scent here is so overwhelming that Derek's eyes water, and his whole body vibrates on the spot, afraid to take another step.

_What if I'm too late? W-What if—what if he's d—_

* * *

><p><strong><em>And I will swallow my pride<em> **

** _You're the one that I love_ **

**_And I'm saying goodbye_ **

* * *

><p>"D—Der—ek."<p>

A voice rasps in a small whisper, and the sour odour of blood intensifies.

Derek freezes, heart pelting against his lungs. His hand reaches, grasps for the doorknob but comes up empty because it's shaking too much. On the third attempt Derek manages to grab hold, twists, knuckles clenching over the handle.

But he stops, when he hears it.

_Silence._

* * *

><p><strong><em>Say something, I'm giving up on you<em> **

**_And I'm sorry that I couldn't get to you_ **

**_And anywhere I would've followed you (Oh-oh-oh-oh)_ **

**_Say something, I'm giving up on you_ **

* * *

><p>There's no heartbeat from behind the door, not even a soft, fluttering <em>tha-thump<em>. Nothing.

The air around him is suddenly compacted, choking him in.

Derek's knees crumple beneath him, and he slides down the door, to the floor in a shuddering mess. His head bangs against the door frame, chest racking with a flurry of high, gasping breaths.

_His mate is gone..._

* * *

><p><strong><em>Say something, I'm giving up on you<em> **

****_Say something..._****


End file.
